


Squabbles in a Blanket Fort

by BrokenKestral



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Adventures in Narnia 2021, Arguing, F/M, Fluff, Hinted Aravis/Cor, Pillow & Blanket Forts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29154504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenKestral/pseuds/BrokenKestral
Summary: Aravis is grumpy, and Corin isn't having any of it. He tries Queen Lucy's solution.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Squabbles in a Blanket Fort

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I haven’t read The Horse and His Boy in long enough that this may be a bit out of character, and truthfully, the characters do not belong to me. 

Aravis was grumpy, and Corin wasn’t having any of it.

“Go away, Corin.”

“I wish you were a boy, so I could knock you down.”

“And  _ I _ am quite glad I was not made into such a repulsive form as is given to boys. Go away.”

Corin leaned against the wall. Leaned,  _ slouched _ , actually.  _ Not at all like a king _ , Aravis thought. She made sure she remained perfectly upright, even framed in front of the hallway window where Corin had caught up to her to plead his brother’s case after a tempeteous royal meeting. And  _ despite _ her telling Corin to go away, he continued interceding. 

“Cor didn’t mean to. Come on, can’t you see that? It’s not like he’s had a kingly upbringing.”

“A person of  _ sense _ would have seen that I was waiting. Instead-”

“He didn’t-   
“And why do you care, anyway?” Aravis snapped, pinning him as best she could with her gaze. “We argue every week, and you don’t normally take it on yourself to help us make up.”

Corin shrugged, looking past her, out of the window. Aravis turned, and saw the jousting area down below. “I can’t find anyone to joust against today except for Cor, and he won’t stop sulking. If you two make up, he’ll probably come joust with me,” came Corin’s easy tones from behind her. Aravis whirled in fury, her white skirt flaring and her eyes blazing. 

“You think I will set aside my grievance for your  _ convenience _ , you  _ utter _ -” Blistering insults, learned from her soldier brother, halted on her tongue as she remembered the Gentle Queen’s advice on the Narnians’ last visit. Swallowing back the words, she turned to stride away. Corin caught her arm.

“Father also doesn’t like it when you’re actually upset.” He gave a lopsided smile. “Neither do I. And I don’t understand, not in the least bit, what you’re so upset about, but I can see you’re upset. I’m trying to help”

Aravis slowed, considering. Of course Corin was foolish enough to think his efforts would help rather than hinder; it was of a one with his brash style. But King Lune’s upset was a different matter. He was her host, and had always been both kind and wise—almost fatherly… 

She put aside the pang that she felt. Fatherly, indeed. “I thank you both, and wish the light of the sun to see and favor your kindness, but I am indeed-”

“You only talk like a Calormen when you’re upset,” Corin interrupted. “And what I’m doing isn’t helping, I can see that, because now you look like you’d like to knock  _ me _ down. But I’ve an idea,” he continued, cheerfully ignoring her anger. Aravis thought sourly that perhaps she’d rather taken the Queen’s advice too much to heart, if Corin no longer decided to be elsewhere when she was mad at him. 

“I am not interested in your idea.”

“Well, it isn’t mine, really. It was Queen Lucy’s first.”

That made Aravis pause. Ever since the Valiant Queen had welcomed her to Archenland—and the next summer to Narnia, when the Archenlanders visited—Aravis had loved spending time with her, or doing anything the Queen did. “What is it?”

“It’d be much easier to show you than to explain it to you.” In spite of herself Aravis snorted. Softly, in a lady-like manner, but a little of her irritation lessened. Corin, when excited, used few enough words she seldom followed his ideas. Cor usually had to interpret them for her.

Cor. 

That oblivious  _ boy  _ with the manners of a fat underbred  _ horse _ , who last night had… 

Perhaps she was upset. 

“So you’ll come?” Corin asked.

_ Anything would be better than the company of my own thoughts, _ Aravis conceded. “Very well. Show me.” Corin offered her his arm, because he  _ had _ trained in the ways of courts and kings, and remembered at times—rare times—to show it. She took it, and the two made their way to a large, comfortable room with lots of furniture, such as couches, chairs, three small wooden tables, two writing desks, and a wardrobe. The wardrobe was filled with blankets, Aravis knew, for the room was too large to heat fully in the winter. But it was here King Lune’s large hospitable heart entertained many guests with games and good food. 

The room was currently empty. 

Corin dropped her arm to scramble over to one couch, pushing one side so it swung towards the other one. 

“ _ What _ are you doing?” snapped a morose voice, and Aravis held in a shriek. Cor popped up from one of the other couches, glaring at his brother. He stiffened when he saw Aravis, still standing by the doorway. He swung his feet to the ground and stood up, as stiff as Aravis was. 

Corin paid no attention to either one of them. “Getting things ready,” he grunted, giving a shove to the other side of the couch. It slid parallel to the other, perhaps a Centaur’s length away. “Cor, go get those chairs, and line them up at one end. Aravis, we’re going to need a lot of heavy books.”

Aravis, distracted from the diatribe that had sprung to mind at the sight of Cor, glanced at Corin to make sure she’d heard right. “Books?” Heavy books—often the kind with long, dry passages and what the prince called “needless wordage”—were among his least favorite things. 

“Books,” he confirmed. “Unless you can find something heavier, but the librarian won’t give me them anymore, not after I returned one with a torn page. Cor, the chairs!” 

“I doubt Aravis wants to do anything that also involves me,” Cor responded curtly, walking towards the door. He halted several paces away, folding his arms as he waited for Aravis to move. 

Well, if she could make him wait… Aravis folded her arms and glared at him back. 

“You wanted a way to make it up to her. Well, this is it. I promise. Now move the chairs!” 

Cor turned red at his brother’s words, but Aravis felt herself soften a little. “I’ll return with the books,” she said with as much dignity as she could manage. She waited till she was sure the boys were out of earshot, and began running. The weird arrangement of the furniture, abnormal request, and Queen Lucy’s former involvement made her much curiouser than she’d willingly admit. As  _ she _ had never damaged a book, the librarians willingly let her take whatever she wanted. She took  _ Discussions of the Merits of Foreign Relations _ ,  _ The Whys of Succession _ ,  _ A History of Granite _ , and  _ A Lengthy Treatise on the Manners of Calormenes _ because it looked like no one had touched them in a long time, and she didn’t really care if Corin damaged the last one. Her fingertips could barely wrap around the bottom of the stack even with her arms fully extended, and she was puffing by the time she reached the gathering room again. That was  _ not _ dignified. 

But she let go of all her irritation once she entered. Cor had lined up the chairs perpendicular to one end of each couch, bridging the gap between them. King Edmund had once introduced a game called “The floor is a shark-infested ocean,” and this looked like a promising set up for it. But what were the books for?

Aravis almost asked Cor, but then she remembered that she was angry at him. The twins were currently standing between the two couches, opposite the chairs They were debating whether or not a broom would stand up-right.

“Corin, just—try it. Let go of the handle. Look, it will flop right over.”

“Of course it will  _ now _ , when there’s nothing holding it up. I told you to get some string.”

“We’re not stringing it from the ceiling.”

“Of course not, we’re too short.”

“We’re not lifting Aravis up to do it either. She already wants me dead.”

“ _ She _ ,” Aravis interrupted scathingly, “is right here, and no, Corin, I am not standing on both your hands to reach the ceiling.” Though she could see Queen Lucy standing a few chairs to reach it, but still—Queen Lucy somehow retained her dignity even while doing the most curious things. 

“We don’t need to tie it to the ceiling, we need it to tie it to the blankets.” Corin saw the books and pounced. He promptly began laying them on the chairs. Aravis breathed a tiny sigh of relief. They had been heavy, but of course neither boy had had the  _ manners _ to take them just because they were heavy. No, Corin only took them when he wanted them. And Cor… well, Cor stood off to the left, still stiff, and didn’t look like he was coming any closer to Aravis without a sword prodding his back. 

“Blankets?” Aravis asked. If Cor ignored her, she’d return the favor. And she’d do it  _ better _ . 

“Yes, see that pile right there? Help me tie a corner of two blankets to the broom, would you?” He threw one of the blankets to Aravis, and she followed his example as he draped one corner over the broom. “Now, Cor, you tie them on.  _ Tight _ , mind, because they’ll need to keep it upright and not slip off.”

It was much harder to ignore Cor when his hands were wrapping string around the blanket and broom she was grasping. He did it smoothly, much more smoothly than he’d been last night, stumbling and tripping and sometimes accidentally grabbing his partner too tightly or missing his hold and getting a handful of skirt instead of his partner’s hand. Twice.

Not that Aravis had been paying attention. 

When the blanket corners were tied (her cheeks now red) and the broom laid on the floor, Aravis quickly turned to help Corin, copying him with her own blanket as he stuffed his into the couch cushions on one side, and then put the opposite end to the broom on the chairs, holding them in place with the heavy books. That done, Corin promptly leaned the broom up at an angle, the force of it pushing against the blankets. He grinned when it held.

“It’s a tent,” Cor said dubiously. “Why do we need a tent inside?” 

Aravis agreed with him, but she could hardly say that out loud. 

“Come inside and see!” And Corin was gone, wiggling under the tent, an armful of blankets disappearing with him. The two remaining people looked at each other.

“Ladies preceding,” Cor said at last, still stiff.

“Unless you’re too  _ afraid _ ,” came Corin’s voice from under the blankets, and Aravis scowled, bent down, and crawled underneath. Corin had spread out the blankets—in wrinkled piles, it’s true, but he had tried, and Aravis promptly claimed the light blue one as her own, smoothing out the dips and hills. Cor crawled in a moment later, shuffling onto a brilliant red blanket. He sat with his back against one couch. 

“What is this?” Aravis asked, softening her voice. Something about the inside of the tent—the light filtering through the patterned flowers overhead, the softness below her, and the way the rest of the world was shut out—disarmed a bit of her anger.

“Queen Lucy called it a blanket fort,” Corin explained. He was laying on his back on a stained white blanket, staring at the large rose overhead. “When I felt very sad about Mama, we’d make one of these together. We’d crawl inside, staying until I felt like coming out again.” He shrugged. “I used to do it when I thought about becoming King, too.” He grinned at his brother, tossing a spare blanket towards his face. “I  _ am _ glad you showed up and booted me out of the throne.” 

Cor smiled—a little bit, but the corner of his mouth twisted in pain. Aravis knew, from some of their arguments when she had gone too far, that he’d probably needed his own blanket fort to deal with the idea on some days. She felt herself softening further.

It really wasn’t his fault he wasn’t more kingly. Still… 

And there was the hurt, the hurt she’d tried to bury in anger. Her first Archenland ball. She’d dressed with such care, getting advice from all those she trusted, fearing to offend by Calormene manners or make-up. And she’d counted on Cor being there and helping her. She’d seen him across the ballroom, even smiled at him, and then—

A flash of a scarlet dress, and the prettiest girl in the ball had stood in front of him. He’d bowed—better than he’d been, Aravis saw with approval, he’d been practicing—but then he’d  _ taken the girl’s hand _ and  _ danced with her _ . Aravis had been left by the wall, dumbfounded. She had not spoken with Cor the rest of the night—though he’d danced with the pretty girl, the daughter of a Lord, twice more. And Cor had made her laugh. 

“So what did you think of your first ball?”

Oh, blanket fort or not, she was going to stab Corin. Or knock his broom and fort right down on his head. He had all the subtlety of a bear who sees fresh honey.

“It was… overwhelming,” Cor said. And that was his I-think-this-is-what-wealthy-people-sound-like-tone. 

“You didn’t seem to find it so when you were dancing,” Aravis fired back.

“I  _ fell _ into my partner! I hadn’t danced with anyone but you, and Queen Lucy! I didn’t know that she’d  _ twirl _ !”

“But you  _ still _ asked her again, didn’t you?”

“ _ She _ asked  _ me! _ ” 

Aravis fell silent, a little shocked. Such things were  _ not done _ in the courts of the Tisroc, but she hadn’t thought of it being different in Archenland-

“She what?” That was Corin, abrupt and a bit bothered. 

“She asked me. What was I supposed to say, ‘I’m sorry, I’m terrified of dancing with anyone?’ I’m the future king!” The self-scorn in his tone ate at Aravis, and she felt a little more sorry. But she did want this clear.

“Do ladies not normally ask men to dance in Archenland?” she clarified with Corin.

“Not normally men they don’t know, no,” Corin frowned. “But Lady Arabelle… Father told me to stay away from her before. He says many in her family desire the crown and not the king.”

“So my first ball and I dance with someone Father doesn’t want us associating with,” Cor summed up bitterly. “And then Aravis avoided me all evening, so I ended up dancing with people I didn’t know the entire time.”

“Sorry,” Aravis said quietly. “I thought… I thought you preferred her.” Cor looked at her in blank disbelief, and she shrugged. “She’s very pretty.”

“Not when she twirls,” Cor complained. “And I swear she stepped on my feet on purpose, once I accidentally rumpled her dress. I’d rather mend fishing nets than dance with her again.”

At that Aravis could not help laughing. At the sound the lines on Cor’s forehead relaxed as well, and he began grinning too. 

“New lessons,” Aravis said, pulling herself up against the opposite couch. “I’ll teach you how to refuse ladies requesting dances.”

“You could just say ‘No,’” Corin interjected.

“I don’t think I want your reputation,” Cor put in wryly. “New lessons.” He sighed. “Can we do them later? I rather like being in this blanket fort.”

“Later,” Aravis agreed. Both of them lay down, staring at the pattern overhead. A minute passed in peace. Aravis closed her eyes. 

“I should have brought more blankets,” Corin grumbled, wiggling around. A moment later Aravis heard his boot hit something wooden, and something soft smashed into her face, several thumps coming from the direction of the chairs.

_ “Corin!” _ the two friends chorused.


End file.
